


the many windswept yellow stickies of my mind

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Ficlet Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-04-24 16:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 14,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: A collection of Berena ficlets, originally posted on tumblr





	1. where pleasure moments hung before

**Author's Note:**

> _[originally posted 2/25/17]_
> 
> #SHE STRAIGHT UP JUST ASSUMES SIAN IS HITTING ON HER LIKE THAT IS NOT A NORMAL RESPONSE TO ‘hey friend what are you doing tonight?' #Serena has always been queercoded the writers just didnt realise and then they decided to give her a gf so they had to make it seem like #Serena has been Straight™ the ENTIRE TIME so there can be TENSION bc her and Bernie after the kiss rather than just OH DANG YEAH LETS GO #bc lets face it the Serena we originally met who practically gushed at Jac’s cheek bones the Serena who affectioned Collette the Serena who #quite happily flirted right back at Fleur and frankly loved the attention would have fucking jumped on Bernie if she’d kissed before #Robbie and Angus i think his name was and espically after the utter shambles that was the reunion w Edward #bullshit she hasn’t thought about women her whole life #Serena Campbell: bisexual extraordinaire #Serena *i will topple over any sweet lookin piece and own their arse w my own amazing existence* Campbell #Serena *I’ll climb any mountain if they’re hot enough to match my own beauty* Campbell #Serena *i am shit hot and my hotness will not be contained to one gender this hotness needs to be shared w all the genders *Campbell #lmao always aware but not out Serena talking to *spent her whole life closeted until Alex* Bernie #realising that Serena has slept w more women than Bernie #Bernie being like dude show me A L L O F Y O U R T R I C K S as they rail each other five ways until Sunday #FUCK MAN this is an au i need in my life now @matildaswan

Bernie collapsed back on the mattress, panting. Her aching lungs finally began to draw cool sweet air as she blinked furiously up at the ceiling in an attempt to get her eyes to clear. A fine sheen of sweat covered her body, glistening in the dim light of the room, aftershocks sporadically twitching through her muscles. She forced herself to unclench her fists, feeling the burn of the half moon marks scored into her palms by her own fingernails, the beginnings of a charley horse flickering in her right calf. 

She swallowed a few times, mouth parched, breathing still ragged and harsh. “I…thought…you said…you’d…never been…with…a woman…before.” She managed to turn her head an inch to the right.

Serena lay on her side, chin propped on a fist, a quizzical frown marring her brow. "I never said that.“

Bernie tried to summon an expression of outrage, only managing a vaguely befuddled twitch of the eyebrow. "You certainly did!”

“I certainly did not, Bernie,” Serena said, one brow raised primly. “I said that I had never been more than friends with a woman. That is quite true.”

Bernie eyed her incredulously. "Then where’d you learn to do,“ she gestured vaguely down her naked, exhausted body, ” _that_.“

"I went to an all-girls school,” Serena said matter-of-factly. As if that explained everything.

Bernie chuckled, trailing off into a whimper as her muscles spasmed. “What, did they teach a course on lesbian sex?”

Serena rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. But you can’t have that many hormonal adolescent girls in one place without some experimentation taking place.”

Images of a young Serena, wearing a perfectly pressed school uniform, kissing another uniformed girl flashed through Bernie’s mind. Picturing that wicked look Serena got in her eye as her hand slid up over knee socks, a bare thigh, higher under the pleated plaid skirt… Bernie squirmed at the unexpected throb between her thighs.

“Serena Campbell, you are full of surprises.” Serena grinned widely, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against Bernie’s mouth. 

“You don’t know the half of it!” One of her hands moved to Bernie’s side, trailing down to rest on the curve of her hip. She pressed closer, nuzzling along Bernie’s neck, breath hot in her ear.

“Now, if you liked that, you’ll _love_ what Sian taught me…”


	2. you’re a hot mess getting messier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 5/20/17]_
> 
> ddagent asked:  
> BERENA No. 6 “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Bernie could just make out Serena’s sleepy frown in the grey pre-dawn light. “You’ve never minded before.”

The frown deepened. “I thought you were going back to yours after your shift.”

“Surprise?” Bernie reached a hand out, frowning herself as Serena shuffled out of reach.

“Let me guess. You still haven’t done the washing and your bed isn’t made, so you thought it would be easier to come climb in mine.” Even at four in the morning, Serena was able to manage that devastatingly dry tone that made F1’s squirm. Impressive, really.

_Busted_. Bernie peered at Serena through her fringe. “Your bed does have some excellent perks over mine.”

“Such as?”

“Your sheets _are_ much nicer than mine.” Bernie scooted forward, hand sliding to the dip of Serena’s waist. “And you make an excellent bed warmer.”

Serena relented with a roll of the eyes and a huff, turning back to her side of the bed. Pressing herself close to Serena’s sleep warm back, Bernie hummed in contentment, eyes heavy as she nuzzled against the nape of Serena’s neck.

“Don’t think you’re getting breakfast out of this.”

Bernie smiled, drifting to sleep.


	3. primary resistance at a critical low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 5/20/17]_
> 
> sententiousandbellicose asked:  
> Berena, 17 for the drabble prompts meme, please! “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while...”

“This is ridiculous.” Serena huffed, one hand sliding her pendant back and forth. “What if there was a patient in here? They could bleed out because Maintenance is at lunch!”

“Serena, I know, but there’s nothing we can do. It looks like we’ll be trapped for a while,” Bernie smiled from her seat on the floor at Serena’s side, rested a hand on her knee. “We should probably just try to distract ourselves.” The hand slid higher.

“No.”

“No what?” Fingers traced meandering circles.

“No, Berenice. We are absolutely _not_ having sex in the hospital lift.”

Bernie’s eyes widened, the picture of innocence. “You have a filthy mind, Serena Campbell! I would _never_ suggest having sex here.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, eyes darkening. “I was thinking a little light necking.”

Serena couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. “‘Light necking’? What does that even _mean_?”

Bernie’s grin widened; she leaned in, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot beneath Serena’s jaw, hand sliding higher along the inseam. “First base. Second at most.”

Serena’s eyes fluttered shut, instinctively tilting her neck to give Bernie better access. “Clothes stay on, I mean it.”

“I can work with that…”


	4. the story stays the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 9/24/17]_
> 
>  
> 
> sententiousandbellicose asked:  
> Where women are concerned, Serena has always preferred blondes.

Where women are concerned, Serena has always preferred blondes.

There was a time when her room was covered in posters of Debbie Harry, Annie Lennox, Stevie Nicks. (The irony is not lost on her but then, as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.) She had even taken an ill-advised stab at it herself; come home from uni with a peroxide yellow shag to the eternal horror of her mother, an act of rebellion that had lasted all of a week and was only remembered in a few grainy pictures hidden away in an album on the back of the shelf.

No, blonde was never Serena’s color. But as silken strands of gold slip and tangle around her fingers, brush against her collarbones, practically glowing in the early morning light, she does think it is her favorite.


	5. this prelude to life long love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 9/24/17]_
> 
> farmerdamsel asked:  
> For the first sentence game: It could be worse.

It could be worse, Bernie thought somewhat hysterically, although at the moment the specifics of how eluded her.

The romantic dinner she had been planning for months - candles, flowers, caviar, the most expensive shiraz she could get her hands on - had been spectacularly derailed when the man at the next table clutched his chest, fell from his chair at the feet of his hysterical wife.

Now Serena’s stunning silk dress was crumpled from crouching on the floor performing chest compressions and her hair was plastered against her forehead with sweat, mascara ringing her eyes in the warm candlelight of the restaurant. And in the process of peeling off her now sick-covered blazer, the ring Bernie had checked for no less than a million times during the evening had tumbled free from her pocket, rolling across the fine parquet in seeming slow motion before coming to rest against Serena’s knee.

Any thought of excuses was stopped by Serena’s wide eyes glistening with tears, trembling lips curving into that brilliant smile Bernie so adored; the imperfections faded away as she took a deep breath, opened her mouth and asked.


	6. what’s at the heart of it all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 9/24/17]_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> sententiousandbellicose asked:  
> For the fic game: Bernie Wolfe had a weakness.

Bernie Wolfe had a weakness.

It was commonly known and had gotten her into no small amount of awkward situations over the years, but she’d never truly had cause to regret it.

Until now.

She swallowed hard as the chatter and laughter of children filtered through the door, tugging ineffectually at the hem of the bright green skirt layered over her striped tights as she watched Fletch hook his fluffy white beard in place.

Running crossed her mind; stripping off the ridiculous costume and fleeing the building as fast as her legs could carry her. Before thought could turn to action soft hands slid across her tense shoulders, a husky voice in her ear whispering deeply inappropriate intentions for after the event and she relented with a sigh; sure there will be personal embarrassment in the short-term, but her weakness for Serena Campbell is always worth it in the end.


	7. satellites maneuvering beams of change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 9/30/17]_
> 
> ddagent asked:  
> "Why are you stuffing toilet paper in your bra?"

“Why are you stuffing toilet paper in your bra?”

Evie froze, eyes wide, a wad of white tissue poking out from the neck of her top. She looked so adorably guilty Serena had to bite back a chuckle as she leaned in the doorway of the locker room, arms crossed sternly across her chest.

“I…” she stuttered, “I know what you said, that I need to be patient and ignore the other girls, but I’m tired of being made fun of for being so flat!” Her lip trembled, the crack in her voice making Serena’s heart ache. “Why can’t I look more like you?”

“Oh, love.” Serena crossed the room, pulling Evie into a tight hug, hands rubbing briskly over her back before tucking her against her side, arm snug around her slim shoulders. “Come along. I think it’s time for you to talk to your Auntie Bernie…”


	8. you all over me, me all over you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 9/30/17]_
> 
> farmerdamsel asked:  
> First sentence: This isn't the first time, but it's the first time like this.

This isn’t the first time, but it’s the first time like this.

They’ve been together long enough that they know each other almost as well as they know themselves; what makes each of them laugh, what can summon tears, how to make each other fall apart.

Bernie is using that wealth of knowledge now in a coordinated assault of mouth and fingers that has Serena writhing, one hand gripping the luxurious sheets of their hotel room bed, the other tangled in Bernie’s hair. Serena’s been on the edge for what feels like hours as Bernie plays her body like a symphony, ratcheting her higher each time before pulling her back and building her up again.

In the end, it’s not the skill so lovingly applied, the lessons learned, or Bernie’s tender dedication that gets her there, but the soft glint of the simple band newly present on her left hand, gold like the soft curls sliding against it.

Heart bursting with love, she cries out as she falls over the edge.


	9. the pincode to happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 10/2/17]_
> 
> kayryn asked:  
> "Turn it off and come here."

“Turn it off and come here.”

Serena sighed, eyes still glued to her laptop. “Bernie, you know I need to have this budget report finalized and on Henrick’s desk first thing in the morning. Can’t this wait?”

Her view of the spreadsheet was suddenly obscured by a pair of hands holding a homemade cupcake; wrapped in silver foil and topped in a lopsided smear of frosting covered in multicolored sprinkles, a single pink candle flickered in the center, casting soft, warm light over the screen of her laptop and Bernie’s smiling face.

“Happy birthday, Serena.”


	10. point of no return one second to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 10/3/17]_
> 
> akaanonymouth asked:  
> Ask anything: I don't suppose you could throw out a drabble/ stream of conscious/ anything surrounding the title "It's half past the point of no return" could you? pretty please? :)

It was bound to happen eventually.

Bernie knew, even if she didn’t want to admit it, was afraid to confront the feelings that were growing harder to ignore by the day. The fact that she had avoided it for as long as she had was down to her own stubborn insistence on ignoring anything resembling an emotion. Focusing only on what was in front of her; the next surgery, the next meeting with the solicitor, the next glass of wine with Serena.

_Serena_.

The fact that someone else had noticed, had shone a light on it, was embarrassing. That it was Cameron had rocked her to the core, her hand trembling beneath his as he spoke softly about the feelings he thought were so transparent and she had never even considered.

That night she had sat in her tiny flat, a tumbler of whiskey on the dinged up coffee table, smoking one cigarette after another as she examined the situation. Turning each moment this way and that in her mind. Allowing herself the time and space to process the feelings each one summoned.

At the end of the night, throat raw and more than a little buzzed, she had been faced with one inevitable conclusion - she was falling for Serena Campbell, falling for her best friend.

She should have known then. Should have realized how much harder the feelings would be to contain once they were acknowledged. What had previously been mistaken for friendship now burned just beneath the surface of her skin, infusing every interaction with new meaning, new intensity. Every glance from Serena, every smile, suddenly took her breath away. She tried her hardest to contain it, to push the feelings back into obscurity where they can’t cause any harm.

And then Fletch is stabbed.

They sit together on the floor of the empty theater, bodies and spirits exhausted. It’s all too much; the fear, the adrenaline overwhelm her, stripping away the reserve she so often clings to. She feels naked, vulnerable; the swirl of emotion swelling inside her until she feels they may break her apart getting out.

But Serena’s there. So earnest and beautiful. Her tired eyes shining fiercely as her lips tell Bernie that she’s fantastic and fearless, her smile like cool rain on Bernie’s tired soul. It’s too much.

Before she can even process the motion she’s leaning forward, a hand lifting to cup the back of Serena’s neck as their lips finally, _finally_ touch. For the the first time since the IED, everything makes sense; the pieces of her life fall into some kind of cosmic alignment of mind, body and soul.

She hesitates for a moment, a bolt of fear slithering through her gut, uncertain of Serena’s response. Afraid that she’s forced this upon her, unwelcome and unwanted. Before she can speak Serena is pulling her back in, kissing her fiercely, hands scrabbling against her shoulders, tangling in her hair. It’s as if every nerve ending is set simultaneously alight and in a moment of perfect clarity, Bernie realizes.

It was bound to happen eventually.


	11. it’s home where you hold me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 10/4/17]_
> 
> matildaswan asked:  
> also, berena #3 !!!!!!!!!!  
> If they didn’t see each other for a long time who would be awestruck that they are seeing their partner, and who would run up to their partner?

Shifting the strap of her duffel more securely on her shoulder, Bernie steps out of the stale air of the train car, squinting in the dazzling sunlight. Already she’s overheating in her well-worn hoodie - it’s far warmer in the south of France than back home in Holby and she always gets chilly in air conditioning - but she hardly notices, focused instead on scanning the crowded platform as she blinks the sunspots from her eyes.

A flash of color catches her eye and she turns, freezes, mouth falling open. It’s been months. Months of too few phone calls and missed connections, of sleepless nights filled with what ifs. Walking around each day feeling as if a part of herself had been carved from her chest leaving her empty and aching, the wound unable to heal.

The crowd seems to part and suddenly Serena is standing before her like something out of a dream; sunlight catching in the silver of her short cropped hair, a bright red sundress skimming over the curves Bernie has traced again and again in her mind. Warmth flows back into that empty part of her in a rush, leaving her breathless, transfixed by Serena’s brilliant smile and sparkling eyes.

And then Serena is rushing toward her, running across the platform and Bernie has only a moment to drop her bag and brace herself before Serena is in her arms. She staggers back a step before regaining her balance, Serena’s arms wrapped so tightly around her neck she can barely breathe. Bernie can only squeeze her back in kind, so desperate to get Serena somehow impossibly closer she lifts her a few inches off the ground. 

Surrounded by the sound of Serena’s delighted laugh in her ear, the scent of her perfume in the air, a grin of pure joy breaks across Bernie’s face. It may have taken a trip of over 1200 miles, but finally she feels like she’s come home.


	12. plucking on the string of everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 12/3/17]_
> 
> matildaswan asked:  
> Bernie & Charlotte, forehead kiss

Bernie holds Serena’s hand loosely clasped in her own as they walk through the darkened house, up the stairs, the only sound the low murmur of the television in the sitting room where Cameron is kipping on the sofa. She can see the slump in Serena’s shoulders, the tiredness in her eyes, her heart aching for the situation that put them there. All she wants is to climb into Serena’s enormous bed, hold her close under the fluffy duvet and try to soothe some of the stings from what was supposed to have been a happy day.

“Mum?” The voice from the spare room is soft and Bernie pauses, squeezes Serena’s hand with a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be in in a minute.” Serena simply nods in response, walking away down the hall as Bernie eases open the door.

Charlotte is sitting up in bed, a book in hand, the room lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. She looks so young, so like she used to before everything went wrong, it makes Bernie’s heart clench. They’ve only just started navigating the fissures in their relationship, finding ways to communicate again, to trust again. Having both of her children here for Christmas – for Christmas with Serena – is almost more than she could have hoped for.

She sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, hesitates, hand hovering in the air a moment before reaching out to squeeze Charlotte’s foot through the covers.

“Is Serena alright?” Charlotte’s voice is low, eyes wide and dark and so like Bernie’s own, it’s like looking into a mirror to the past. The compassion there, the concern warms Bernie’s heart and, not for the first time, she wonders how her daughter managed to develop such awareness and empathy from her less than ideal upbringing.

“I think she will be.” She sighs, mentally replaying the devastation on Serena’s face when Elinor left with no goodbye, no well-wishes, only another in a series of cutting remarks designed to wound. “This …” she gestures vaguely, encompassing the room, the whole house, “has been a lot for Elinor to take in. But Serena’s her mum; she’ll come round eventually.” Even as she says the words, Bernie can only pray that they’re true.

“I almost didn’t.” Bernie can see the pain in her daughter’s eyes, hates everything she’s ever done to put it there.

“Lottie, that’s not…”

“No, Mum.” She leans forward, grasping Bernie’s hand with both of hers, eyes intent. “It’s true. I…I was so _angry_. Angry that you were gone, angry that dad was hurting, angry that our family was falling apart. That’s why I wrote that letter when the solicitor asked. I wanted to hurt you as much as I was hurting.”

Bernie swallows, nods, can feel the tears prickling at the backs of her eyes. She knows she deserves Charlotte’s anger, her judgement. If sitting here and listening to the rank and file of her flaws and mistakes as a mother is what’s needed to win her daughter back, then she’ll be brave enough to do it. She has to.

“Mum, can…can you ever forgive me?” The tears choking Charlotte’s voice pull Bernie free from her self castigation and she looks up in shock.

“What?”

“I was such a cow, Mum. I was so blind, so bloody _selfish_ I couldn’t see what you were going through. How hard it must’ve been for you to be away from us, to realize your entire life wasn’t what you thought it was. To decide to finally be true to yourself.” Charlotte grips Bernie’s hand tighter, eyes liquid and shining with tears. “You’re so brave, Mum and I never gave you any credit for it. And then seeing Elinor be so horrible to Serena tonight…I realized I’m no better than she is.” A tear slips free, streaking down her cheek and Bernie lifts her hand to swipe it away, tucking Charlotte’s cornsilk hair behind her ear as she had when she was young.

“That’s not true, Lottie. You’re here, you’re trying, when you would be well within your rights to never speak to me again.” She forces the words past the lump in her throat, low and gruff. “Thank you.”

Charlotte surges forward and Bernie holds her close, closes her eyes and breathes in, memorizing the scent of her daughter’s hair, the feel of her in her arms, hugging her the way she wished she’d been able to on countless nights far from home.

“I love you, Mum.”

“I love you, too.” They eventually disentangle, Bernie rising as Charlotte settles back into bed. She leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, as if she were ten instead of twenty, and murmurs a soft “Happy Christmas” before turning to leave.

“Mum?” Bernie pauses with her hand on the door, turning back over her shoulder.

“I really like Serena.”

Bernie can’t keep the smile from her face, heart warmed by the answering grin on Charlotte’s. “I really like her, too.”


	13. through my open wounds they let themselves in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 12/8/17]_

Fletch rubs his bleary eyes, levering himself up from the sofa at the knock on the door, leaving Evie where she was curled up beside him. Theo and Ella are playing quietly in the corner, Mikey hadn’t come down from his room since morning.

The atmosphere of the house is thick, eerily silent compared to the usual noise and chaos of their family, as if everything were wrapped in cottonwool. He knows he should talk to the kids, should do more to make sure they are alright. He just doesn’t know how. The same numbness that shrouds their home soaks through him to the bone. In a way he’s grateful for it. Feeling nothing is far preferable to confronting the pain lurking inside.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming,” he mutters as the knock comes again, louder this time. He’s sure it’s another neighbor, someone from the hospital. Another acquaintance there with with sad eyes and a casserole to freeze, wanting to talk about how wonderful Raf was, how sad it all is. He wishes vehemently they would all just go away. Thinks about saying that as he turns the knob, jerks the door open.

He freezes, a retort dying on his lips, eyes wide with shock. The last thing he had expected was Serena Campbell standing on his front stoop, wrapped in her red coat, her hair longer and greyer than the last time had had seen her almost nine months ago, eyes sparkling with tears and filled with sympathy, a stoic Bernie Wolfe standing close behind her.

“Oh, Fletch.” Serena’s voice breaks on his name, thick with tears as she steps forward, wraps Fletch up in a fierce hug. His own eyes well up in return, burying his face in the the collar of her coat, clutching her close as he tries to regain his composure.

The sound of running feet gives them just enough warning to pull apart as Evie pelts around the corner, tears streaming down her face. She flings herself into Serena’s arms with such force Serena stumbles back a step, Bernie reaching out to steady them. Fletch can only watch helplessly as Serena holds his daughter close, murmuring unintelligible words of comfort against the crown of her head, her hand gently stroking the length of Evie’s hair.

Eventually, she manages to pull away, tucking Evie against her side and giving Fletch a small pained smile. “Come on, my love. It’s cold. Let’s get you inside.” Evie nods, face still buried against Serena’s chest as they walk past and disappear into the sitting room.

“Fletcher.” Bernie’s hand is strong on his shoulder, grounding him back in reality.

“Major,” he replies, his voice hoarse and broken, as if he hasn’t spoken in weeks. It feels like he hasn’t. Her hand squeezes tighter as she guides him forward, back to his children, back to this new reality, the door swinging closed behind them.


	14. the promise in our yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 12/30/17]_
> 
> matildaswan asked:  
> Berne’s 8+10 pls

“Stop it.”

Bernie blinks out of her reverie, glancing up at Serena who, despite speaking, is still focused on the paperwork spread across her desk.

“Stop what?”

Serena sets down her pen with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Do you like my new lipstick?”

Brow furrowed at the sudden change of topic, Bernie fumbles for an answer. “I, um, yes?”

“I’m asking because you’ve been staring at my lips all morning.” Serena pins her with a reprimanding glare, an arched eyebrow. Bernie feels her cheeks flush, but she can see the teasing glimmer in Serena’s eyes. She mirrors Serena’s posture, relaxing back in her chair, lips pursed to hold back a grin.

“Sorry.” She lets her voice drop into a lower register, loves the flash of heat she sees in Serena’s eyes. “I was just thinking about last night.” It’s Serena’s turn to flush, cheeks rosy as her hand comes to rest at the base of her neck.

“Is that all you were thinking about?” She does an admirable job of keeping her voice steady, but Bernie can hear the husk underneath, the slight strain in Serena’s words and she has to stop herself at grinning outright.

“I was also strongly considering kissing you.”

“Bernie, we agreed – not at work.”

Now she does allow herself a grin, a smug lift of the lips that she happens to know Serena loves. “I know. That’s why I was just thinking about it. Repeatedly.”

They stare each other down for a long moment, a wordless battle of wills. It had been early on in their relationship that Bernie had discovered the effect that her sometimes frank expressions of attraction, of desire, had on Serena, as if she still couldn’t believe that Bernie honestly wanted her. Determined to prove otherwise, Bernie likes to drop comments like this when they’re least expected, reaffirming just how much she wants Serena, always.

Bernie knows she’s won when Serena’s eyes drop to her lips, hesitate there. Serena glances out the blinds of their office, then stands, slowly walks around the desk like a jungle cat on the prowl, her eyes fixed on Bernie. Heart racing, Bernie turns her chair just in time for Serena to step between her knees, to brace her hands on the arms of Bernie’s chair, and she can’t hold back a moan at the first touch of Serena’s lips, warm and soft and perfect against her own. Has to grip her knees to keep herself from making a mess of Serena’s hair when that wicked tongue slides between her lips.

It’s over practically as soon as it starts and Bernie sits with her eyes closed long after Serena pulls away, treasuring this moment, committing it to memory, doesn’t even mind the dopey grin she knows is on her lips. When she does finally open her eyes, Serena is still braced above her, eyes soft as she swipes a smudge of her lovely new lipstick from Bernie’s bottom lip.

“Now, are you quite finished distracting me from work?” There’s no heat to Serena’s words, but Bernie knows she’s pushed it as far as she can for today, nods in agreement. Serena straightens, runs a hand through her hair, needlessly straightening the already neat wavy silver strands. She turns toward the door, pausing to pin Bernie with a look so full of longing, of desire, of everything she wishes she could do, it takes Bernie’s breath away.

“You can make it up to me tonight.” Serena gives the barest hint of a wink and walks back onto the ward, an extra sway in her hips that raises Bernie’s body temperature. She knows it’ll be impossible to concentrate the rest of the day, her mind full of possibilities of what Serena has planned.

“Worth it,” she says to the empty office and turns back to her paperwork, determined to leave on time.


	15. a perfect heart's length away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 2/9/18]_
> 
> walkthegale asked:  
> fic first sentence: “what am i doing here?” or “there are going to be questions about this.” whichever you’d rather!

“What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?”

Bernie ducks her head, her overlong fringe, now in even more desperate need of a trim than the last time Serena saw her, falling into her eyes. 

“Surprise?”

_That’s putting it mildly_ , Serena thinks, her heart still racing from the unexpectedly finding her partner, who by all accounts was supposed to be in Africa right now, dancing around her kitchen in an apron, singing off key and cooking…something, with seemingly every pan in the house. 

Dropping her bag to the floor, she can’t help but step forward, plucking the wooden spoon from Bernie’s hand and setting it on the counter, eyes tracing over the tan skin, the new freckles, those deep, intense eyes she’s missed so much; she leans in with a smile, her heart racing for an entirely different reason.


	16. be still with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 3/13/18]_
> 
> belligerently asked:  
> bernie/serena: “can you turn on the lights?”

“Can you turn on the lights?”

There’s a brief fumble in the darkness, then a click, and Serena squints against the sudden brightness of the bedside lamp.

“Everything okay?” A few blinks and her vision clears, resolves into Bernie’s beautiful face hovering above her; blonde curls mussed and falling around her face, more tan and freckled than the last time she saw it, a contrast to the pale ivory of her bare shoulders, to the kiss-swollen pink of her lips. 

“Yes,” Serena murmurs, brushing her fingers along the rise of Bernie’s cheekbones and into her hair before pressing up to kiss her again, “I just missed seeing you like this.”

“I’ve missed seeing you too,” Bernie replies, words muffled by their kiss, forgotten entirely as she slips back beneath the duvet, expressing the same sentiment wordlessly, again and again.


	17. excess is the new moderation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 3/19/18]_
> 
> kayryn asked:  
> “here, have some water.” (berena)

“Here, have some water.” Serena narrowly avoids spilling the glass in her hand as Bernie once again lurches forward, normally sure hands fumbling and uncoordinated as they reach for her waist, lets out a grunt, catching Bernie’s full weight against her body.

“I don’t want water,” Bernie slurs, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes almost overwhelming Serena, wet lips pressed sloppily against the side of her neck. She rolls her eyes, trying to navigate them both across the bedroom while avoiding Bernie’s advances.

“Come on, solider, time to get you to bed.” 

It will be funny in the morning, when she can gloat over a cup of coffee, ask how Bernie’s “quiet night out with the boys from her unit” went with unrelenting cheer; for now, she manages to maneuver Bernie into bed, removing the hand from her breast as Bernie’s drunken leer slumps into sleep, a garbled “love you” fading off into a snore.


	18. but I can think of far better ways to waste your energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 5/23/18]_
> 
> anonymous asked:  
> Prison AU and PWP. For Bernie/Serena.
> 
> (for the Trope Mash-up meme)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would definitely have to be part of a _Bad Girls_ AU, where Bernie is in prison for killing Alex’s attempted rapist and Serena is the Wing Governor at the prison. This would be post Bernie sneaking out for what was their first time together.

“You wanted to see me, Ms. Campbell?”

The slight drawl in Bernie’s tone, that ever present insolence, sends a shiver down Serena’s spine. She waves to the guard to close the door behind himself, can’t help but watch as Bernie saunters toward the desk. _No one should look that bloody good in prison issued clothes._

She clears her throat. “I wanted to talk to you about that issue with Yvonne and the Julie’s. See if you’d heard anything?” 

Bernie pouts a bit at that. “And here I thought you just missed me after the other night.”

Serena feels heat climbing her neck, know she must be flushed bright red. “Bernie,” she warns, draws herself a little straighter in her chair, trying to regain some of her authority.

“Serena,” Bernie parrots back, voice pitched low in a way that curls up and takes residence in Serena’s belly, seemingly unintimidated as she continues moving forward, walking around the side of the desk until Serena has to crane her head back to look up at her. This close she can see the darkness of Bernie’s eyes, the way her tongue flicks out to wet her lips, overwhelming Serena with the sense memory of kissing that drawn mouth, of Bernie’s strong, capable hands on her, _in_ her. Serena swallows hard, and suddenly the air in the room feel too thick to breath, making her a little dizzy.

“Bernie,” she says again, but her voice sounds weak and unconvincing to her own ears. “We can’t do this here.” A predatory grin spreads across Bernie’s face, fueled by the knowledge that she’s already won.

She braces her hands on the back of Serena’s chair, trapping her there, leans in close to nuzzle the soft skin behind Serena’s ear and she has to bite back a moan. 

“We both know those guards won’t come in unless there’s a commotion,” Bernie murmurs, lips brushing against Serena’s neck. “I miss you, Serena.”

The note of plaintive longing in her voice is Serena’s downfall. She turns her head and catches Bernie in a fierce kiss, swallowing her surprised moan. Her fingers tangle automatically in Bernie’s hair as she returns the kiss, dislodging her small ponytail and dropping the tie to the floor.

Their lips never part as Bernie’s hands fumble at Serena’s waist, tugging her up out of her chair, turning to press her back against the edge of the desk, paperwork shifting precariously. One of her strong thighs slips between Serena’s legs, pressing just so through the fine wool of her pencil skirt, drawing a groan from her chest that is thankfully muffled by Bernie’s mouth.

Serena can’t hold back a disappointed whine when Bernie pulls back, breaking the kiss, but her complaints are stopped by the heat of Bernie’s eyes, the intensity that makes her breath stutter in her chest. Her head lolls back as Bernie trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, noses aside the collar of her silk blouse to nip lightly at her collarbone.

A swirl of cool air against her thighs alerts her to Bernie’s hands bunching in the fabric of her skirt, tugging it up towards her waist. Serena knows she should stop this, that it’s too dangerous by half. But the fact is she _has_ missed Bernie; has missed touching her, tasting her, has thought of little else since that one glorious night. Having her close again, their bodies pressed together, the feel of Bernie’s hands skimming lightly along her thighs, is entirely too good to resist.

The first press of Bernie’s hand against the front of Serena’s knickers drags a moan from her, a low chuckle and a nip to her earlobe from Bernie. 

“Quiet, Serena,” she whispers, fingers pressing in small circles that already have stars shooting across the back of Serena’s eyes. “You don’t want anyone to come check on us, do you?”

Serena shakes her head frantically, risk and arousal making her heart pound in equal measure. She has to bite down on her lip to keep from making a sound when Bernie’s hand slips inside her knickers, hard enough that for a moment she’s afraid she’s drawn blood. Bernie sighs in pleasure against her neck, hot breath gusting across Serena’s skin as her fingers slip into her, find Serena’s already drenched and swollen.

They both know that time is short and even though they’ve only had one incredible night together, Bernie has already learned the ways Serena likes to be touched. A finger firmly circling her clit sends bolts of pleasure skidding along her nerve endings, makes her hips buck, mouth falling open in a silent cry when two fingers push into her a moment later, the pad of Bernie’s thumb maintaining pressure in just the right spot.

The move together in near silence, wrapped tightly around each other; the whisper of fabric rubbing together, the faint sound of fingers stroking through wetness the only noises in the stillness. Bernie’s hand guides Serena’s head so she can bite down on her hoodie-clad shoulder when she comes, body tensing and spasming as Bernie whispers endearments in her ears, fingers slowing as she sees Serena through it.

Serena slumps back against her desk, panting, tendrils of pleasure flowing languidly through her body, twitching slightly as Bernie withdraws her hand. When she opens her eyes, she finds Bernie watching her, dark gaze filled with desire and no small amount of affection. She takes her fingers into her mouth with a low moan that makes Serena shudder all over again, cleaning away the evidence of their illicit encounter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they get interrupted by a knock at the door and they have to straighten up quickly, and there’s a lot of introspective angst about their situation.


	19. skipping beats, blushing cheeks, I am struggling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 5/25/18]_
> 
> belligerently asked:  
> 20 + 26 for the trope mash-up!
> 
>   _20\. Teacher AU_  
>  _26\. Massage Fic_

_“Ow.”_

Bernie looks up from the paper she’s marking, frowning when she sees Serena limping over to her desk in their shared office.

“You all right?”

She lowers herself into her chair gingerly, unable to hide a wince. “I was down helping the library organize all those book donations and underestimated how heavy a box was.” Serena twists slightly in her chair, stretching her torso and arching her back. Bernie looks down, suddenly extremely interested in her student’s illegible scribblings. “Did my back in, I’m afraid.”

“I could cover your class this afternoon, if you wanted to sneak out to your osteo.” Not the most convenient timing, this close to the end of term, but Bernie often finds herself making these sorts of offers, can’t help but do anything she can to make Serena’s life that much easier. The smile she gets in return is more than worth it, bright and genuine enough, even through the pain, that it makes Bernie’s heart flutter.

“That’s very sweet, but they’re doing final presentations today. I can’t miss it.” Serena bends forward with a groan, rolling up into some semblance of cat pose and Bernie has to avert her eyes to avoid a frankly stunning display of cleavage.

“I could give you a massage, if you like.” The words are out before Bernie’s brain has caught up. She feels her cheeks heating at the idea, but can’t see how to backpedal the offer now. “I mean, we, ah, we can’t have you like this in class all afternoon. And, um, I’ve been told that I’m rather good at that sort of thing by...people.” Her stammering trails off lamely, embarrassment setting in. Serena has the oddest look on her face, her fingers toying with her pendant, and for a moment Bernie thinks Serena’s as embarrassed as she is, though for the life of her she can’t imagine why.

“Really? That, uh, that would be nice,” Serena says hesitantly, but still levers herself out of her seat with a groan. Bernie jumps up a moment later, pulling out one of the the low-backed chairs kept along the walls for student meetings for Serena to sit in.

Bernie rubs her hands together as she circles around behind the chair, ostensibly to warm them up, when in fact she’s just trying to wipe away the sudden sweat from her palms, a condition which only worsens when Serena slips off her loose blouse. Taking a fortifying breath, she steps closer, resting her hands just lightly along Serena’s shoulder blades. She can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin silk of her vest, the tension in her muscles.

“Just tell me if I’m hurting you,” Bernie murmurs, thumbs pressing in along either side of Serena’s spine.

Her head falls forward with a groan of mixed pain and pleasure, and Bernie realizes two crucial things. Number one, this is the first time she’s purposefully touched Serena since the night of the staff holiday party. And number two, this was a _spectacularly_ bad idea.

Because at the first touch of her hands to Serena’s back, all of the memories she’s been ruthlessly avoiding for the last 15 weeks come flooding to the forefront. Intense, vivid memories of Serena, all sparkling eyes and dark red lips in a dress that took Bernie’s breath away. The two of them getting progressively drunker as the night went on, giggling together like school girls, even taking a turn on the dance floor. Huddling in the cold waiting for a taxi, their breath clouding the air before them, snowflakes clinging to Serena’s lashes. 

Of the taste of Serena’s lips - shiraz and lipstick and _her_ \- so soft and sweet against her own, so pliant as they opened to Bernie’s questing tongue.

Her hands tighten a bit of their own accord and she has to force herself to relax as she thinks of the weekend that followed; flitting nervously around her flat, checking her phone endlessly as she went back and forth on whether she should get in touch with Serena. Torn between elation and fear that she had misunderstood, had pushed too far, terrified that she’d damaged the most important friendship in her life beyond repair. 

By Monday morning she had reached a place of calm, decided that she would lay it all out for Serena and finally tell her the truth. Tell her that she’d been wanting to kiss her since the day they’d met over Serena’s broken down car in the school car park, that she’d been hopelessly in love with her for almost as long. She practiced the words on her way in to work, repeated them as she bought them both a coffee at the little cafe across the road.

Words that abandoned her at the nauseating realization that Serena had no memory of their kiss.

All of her brave intentions shriveled up inside her beside her cowardly heart, and she decided then and there to never tell Serena what had happened, how she felt. She’s come to peace with it as much as she can over the course of the term, forces herself to act like she is still only Serena’s best friend, and not head over heels in love with her. _It’s for the best_ , she reminds herself sternly every time Serena smiles especially bright in her direction, or takes Bernie’s arm in her own as they walk to the pub.

Bernie realizes suddenly that her hands have slowed of their own accord, resting lightly on Serena’s shoulders, her thumbs rubbing circles against her soft skin. It’s far more of a caress than a massage, but Serena hasn’t pulled away, is instead sitting perfectly still beneath Bernie’s touch. 

Something shifts in the atmosphere between them, delicate and crystalline, like a spider’s web on a foggy morning. Bernie finds herself slowing her breathing to match Serena’s, tracing the smattering of freckles on her pale shoulders with the pads of her thumbs, memorizing the feel of her skin. Without thinking she slides a hand to rest against the curve where Serena’s neck meets her shoulder, thumb tracing lightly against the slight bumps of her spine, her fingertips resting against the dip of her collarbone. She feels Serena take a slow breath that shudders through her, vibrates against Bernie’s skin.

The bell rings, shattering the charged aura, the hallways filling with the shouts of students a moment later as they make their way back from lunch. Bernie pulls her hands away as if burned, sees Serena jerk forward just as quickly.

Serena practically jumps from the chair, eyes not meeting Bernie’s as she fumbles to pull her blouse back on. Distance stretches between them, reopening the yawning pit in Bernie’s stomach, the one she’d papered over with false reassurances and meaningless platitudes.

“Thank you. That, uh, that’s much better.” Serena’s voice is tight, eyes focused over Bernie’s shoulder as she offers a bare ghost of a smile. “I should get to class.” 

Grabbing a stack of papers, she hurries out into the hall, leaves Bernie standing in the middle of an empty room wondering just what she’s done.


	20. it's love on the line can you handle it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 5/26/18]_
> 
> ylizam asked:  
> Berena - 43 + 20!
> 
> _20\. Teacher AU_   
>  _34\. Dance of Romance_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [_skipping beats, blushing cheeks, I am struggling_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359224/chapters/34116555)

There are many things Serena Campbell loves about her job as a teacher: the relationships she builds with her students, the opportunity to shape young minds, the fact that every day brings unique challenges.

Chaperoning the end of term dance is not one of them.

She swallows another sip of overly sweet punch with a grimace, checking that it hasn’t been spiked by some mischievous teen. This year’s dance hasn’t been as bad as others in the past. They’ve only had to step in a few times to reprimand the inappropriate placement of hands, and broken up just one fight. She thinks back to the year with the infamous streaker with a shudder, not eager to relive the experience of chasing down a student in their birthday suit.

All in all, it’s been an easy evening, a lovely time for the students to decompress before they sit for exams. She should be pleased, relaxed even. And yet…

Her eyes scan the crowd, drawn inevitably to the slender blonde on the opposite end of the room. 

A month ago Serena was thrilled at the prospect of Bernie overseeing the dance with her, looked forward to spending more time with her friend, having Bernie by her side to ease the burden as she always manages to do. Now the sight of her, hair clipped up in an elegant twist and wearing a slim fitted suit that should probably be declared illegal by the health and safety commission, makes Serena’s stomach flop about uncertainly.

Instead of the comfort she normally derives from Bernie’s steadfast presence, all she can think of is that bloody massage. The feel of Bernie’s hands on her back, caressing her shoulders, is still so vivid Serena sometimes expects to see fingerprints branded across her skin, a permanent mark of Bernie’s touch emblazoned on Serena’s flesh. 

_It’s your own bloody fault_ , her inner voice grumbles for the millionth time. If only she had the courage to tell Bernie what she’s been feeling; that she’s never felt this way about a woman before, but she’s certain it’s more than friendship, that she wants so much more with Bernie, wants _everything._ She’d had her chance, too. After the holiday party. After the kiss.

The memory of that night, of Bernie’s dark eyes and warm hands, the way her long eyelashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks as she leaned in beneath the streetlamp, breath curling between them like steam, the lightning bolt of desire that had flooded Serena at the first touch of those thin, surprisingly soft lips, chased by a sense of complete _rightness_ , is as clear now as it was the morning after. As clear as it was that entire weekend, churning over and over in Serena’s overwhelmed mind.

As clear as it was when Serena lied to Bernie for the very first time.

In hindsight she knows she panicked. All of her intentions of having a frank conversation had flown out the window when Bernie walked into their office that morning, holding a coffee from Serena’s favorite cafe and a _pain au chocolat_ , a hesitant smile on her face, and looking so painfully beautiful it took Serena’s breath away.

Suddenly everything she was feeling was overwhelming and terrifying instead of new and exciting, and out of sheer self-preservation Serena pretended not to remember. Fabricated a story of hazy memories, of too much shiraz and a brutal hangover. Even as the words left her mouth she wished she could take them back, saw some of the light gutter and die in Bernie’s eyes, her smile tightening, laugh forced. _This isn’t what I want!_ a part of Serena screamed, but once it was out she didn’t know how to take it back.

They’re still friends. Of course they are. Serena would rather lose an arm than have Bernie disappear from her life, which is a significant portion of what terrified her in the first place. And if sometimes Serena catches herself staring a little too long at Bernie’s profile as she marks exams, or she notices Bernie watching her from across the room with a look of such wistfulness it makes Serena’s heart ache, they’ve both tacitly agreed to ignore it. To put the idea of _possibility_ , the desire for something more, aside in favor of the friendship they both treasure.

Until last week.

The first touch of Bernie’s hands on her skin had freed every one of those emotions and, like Pandora, Serena can’t get them back in the box. 

She’s spent the week avoiding Bernie at every turn, has even taken to grading in the teachers’ lounge for the first time in her career out of the fear that if she lingers too long in a room alone with Bernie that she’ll do something stupid, like push her up against the office door and snog her senseless, or blurt out “I love you” across their desks.

And she does love Bernie. Loves her with every beat of her useless heart, more and more each day it seems. But if Serena’s learned nothing else in her life it’s that love is no guarantee, and ends in heartbreak more often than not. She won’t risk Bernie’s friendship for that, no matter how much it hurts.

Serena just needs time. Time to regain her balance, to rein in her emotions, place them once again under lock and key, and she needs time away from Bernie to do that.

The lights in the gymnasium dim, limning everything in an ethereal blue glow as the music switches to something slower. Students pair off quickly, swaying together on the dance floor under the watchful eyes of the faculty.

Sound washes over Serena, her mind instinctively picking out bits and pieces of the lyrics; something about _holding breath_ and _I’m not myself_.The song swells into the chorus as the singer declares her refusal to believe she’s the only one feeling such love and Serena can’t stop herself from looking across the room to where Bernie stands, hands shoved deep in her pockets...and staring right back at her.

Serena gasps, can see the intensity of Bernie’s dark eyes even from here, emotions writ large across her features that make Serena’s heart pound unevenly. The air seems to thicken around her, making it too hard to breath, to think, and she has to get away.

Spinning on her heel, she makes her way across the gym, pushing out the side door. 

The night air is crisp and she wraps her arms around herself, tilts her head back to stare at the bright disc of the moon, takes deep breaths and tries to calm the beating of her frantic heart. She doesn’t look away when she hears the door open and click shut a moment later, just closes her eyes, imagines she can feel the movement in the air that heralds Bernie’s presence, a kind of sixth sense that always tells Serena when she’s near.

“You all right?” 

Serena hums, eyes still closed, face turned up to the moon. “Just got a bit overheated, needed some fresh air. Sorry to run out like that.”

She hears a scuff of shoes on concrete, thinks that Bernie must’ve shifted closer, that if she leaned just an inch to the right they’d be pressed together, arm to arm.

“The others have things under control.” Bernie’s voice is low, blending with the breeze through the trees, the strains of music filtering out of the gym. “I think the dance is going quite well, don’t you?”

“Mmmmm, yes.” Serena opens her eyes and glances over. Bernie’s normally golden hair is practically white in the silvery light, her eyes dark and fathomless in a way that makes Serena shiver. “It’s not a bad time, a bit boring, though. It would be a fair sight better if the staff could join in on the dancing.”

A furrow forms between Bernie’s brows and Serena lets herself imagine what it would be like to stroke her thumb across those wrinkles, to smooth them away with her touch.

“What says they can’t?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” Serena muses. “I mean, there’s no rule about it. I think it’s a matter of propriety, really. We can’t have all of the teachers looking ridiculous in front of the students.”

Bernie seems to consider this for a moment, turns to face Serena with a hand extended and a hesitant smile on her face. 

“There aren’t any students here now.”

Serena knows she should refuse, should go back inside and get back to the work of falling out of love with Bernie Wolfe. But her will is weak in the face of a world bathed in moonlight and Bernie looking at her with such hope, and she finds herself taking Bernie’s hand, stepping into her embrace.

They sway to the faint music in silence, pressed only lightly together. Still Serena is painfully aware of every point of contact; Bernie’s palm at the base of her spine, the way their hands fit together, the curves of their bodies complementing one another, interlocking like puzzle pieces. Their faces hover with only a whisper of space between them, practically cheek to cheek, and Serena finds herself staring at the ivory column of Bernie’s neck, exposed by her updo, wonders what it would be like to press her lips to the spot at the base where Bernie’s pulse flutters. They shift a little closer, Bernie guiding them in a slow circle on the cracked concrete.

“This reminds me of the holiday party,” Serena murmurs without thinking. She feels Bernie stiffen against her, a hitch in her shuffling steps. For a moment she thinks Bernie is going to bolt, doesn’t quite know how she would survive it. Instead, after what seems like an eternity, she relaxes incrementally against Serena and they resume their swaying.

“I, uh, I thought you didn’t remember that.” Bernie’s voice is tight, a little hoarse, as if she’s bracing herself against something. There’s a question in her words, _the_ question. The one they’ve both been avoiding for the entire term. Leaning back in Bernie’s loose embrace, Serena looks her in the eyes, those beautiful, caring eyes, and knows the time for lies has ended.

“I remember everything about that night.” 

She feels Bernie’s gasp as much as hears it, watches her eyes go wide, a million questions flickering across her lovely features. It breaks something loose in Serena and words spill out; how much she wanted to tell Bernie, how scared she was, still is, how important Bernie is in her life and how she couldn’t bear to ruin that. It’s a torrent of thoughts and feelings, a waterfall, pouring out of her faster and faster as she tries to find a way to make this all right.

It takes her a moment to realize the words have stopped, cut off by Bernie’s lips covering her own, just as soft and sweet as she remembers. 

Serena freezes, blinks in shock, sways a little on her feet when Bernie pulls back. She can see the fear on Bernie’s face, recognizes it as the same as her own, and realizes in a flash what fools they’ve both been.  


Before Bernie can get out her inevitable apology, Serena leans in and kisses her fiercely, her hands finding their way to the loose tendrils of hair at the nape of Bernie’s neck. Kisses her until Bernie melts against her; hands clutching, holding each other as close as they can, with only the silent moon as witness.


	21. moments until the one I leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 6/16/18]_
> 
> Anonymous asked:  
> I’m not saying you should write a little something about a Berena kiss based on that kiss in that one gif set with Catherine but... it would be hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You mean [this one](http://ktlsyrtis.tumblr.com/post/164197849043/catherine-russell-in-wilderness-1996)?

“Serena, the taxi’s here.”

Serena closes her eyes, takes a deep breath against the sudden tightness in her chest, the prick of tears at the back of her eyes, and dries her hands on the dish towel, walking out into the hallway.

Bernie stands there, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her grey coat, battered old duffle bag sitting at her feet, her beautiful profile backlit by the last of late evening sunlight streaming in through the frosted glass panes of the door.

They agreed that it would be best if Bernie went to the airport alone, to say their goodbyes here in private, in Serena’s home. _Their_ home, now that Bernie had completed the sale of her flat, stored her few boxes in Serena’s attic. It hits her all over again that they’ve lived together for less than 24 hours before facing another separation, before Bernie leaves once again. _Will we ever be able to stop saying goodbye?_

The scuff of her feet on the hardwood pulls Bernie’s attention and she turns from the door, a sad smile on her lips. They’ve done what they can to resolve their issues, stayed up most of the night after the baby was born, finally having an honest conversation about how they’ve been feeling, what they each need. Reaffirming how very much they love one another and that this is what they still want. That someday, _someday_ , they won’t be apart anymore, will be able to go to sleep and wake up beside one another every day, will have the life together that they both want so badly. And then they had made love until dawn, reinforcing their words through touch, making memories to help them through the tough times undoubtedly ahead. Their time together was short, but Serena feels truly settled, confident that they’re in this together, that they’ll make it through no matter what for the first time since she called Bernie to say she was staying in Holby longer than expected.

It still doesn’t make it any easier to watch Bernie go.

“You’re sure you have everything?” She tries to keep her voice steady, but she knows Bernie can hear the roughness, the tears fighting to escape.

“Yep.” Bernie ticks off on her fingers. “Passport, clothes, custard creams. All the necessities.” She doesn’t mention the photograph of them with the children, taken at Christmas, the cozy shawl sprayed with Serena’s perfume, but she knows they’re there, a little piece of home tucked safely away. 

Their eyes catch and hold for a long moment, everything they agreed not to say communicated silently between them. _I’ll miss you. Be safe. I love you. Come back to me…_

Serena clears her throat and steps closer, tugging at the lapels of Bernie’s coat, smoothing them into place. “Text me when you land, no matter how late it is.”

“I will.” Bernie’s voice is low, her hands coming to rest on Serena’s elbows. “Send me some more pictures of the baby, when you have a chance.”

“Just try and stop me.” They both chuckle, but it comes out tight, their smiles forced. “I love you, Bernie. So much.” Tears well in Serena’s eyes despite her best efforts to stay strong, and she blinks them back furiously, tries to ignore the sudden wetness of Bernie’s dark eyes.

“I love you, too. We’ll see each other soon, I promise. I’ll talk to the director as soon as I get in.”

“You’d best do that, soldier.”

A honk sounds from outside and suddenly Bernie’s departure is all too real. _It’s too soon_ , Serena thinks a little frantically, fingers clenching on Bernie’s lapels. Now that the moment is here she worries she hasn’t said enough, done enough, that despite everything Bernie will walk out that door and somehow forget her, forget them. Wants, _needs_ , to give Bernie something to remember her by, something to come home for.

Serena steps close, close enough that she can feel the warmth of Bernie’s body through the layers of fabric between them, smiling softly as she runs her fingers through unruly blonde curls one last time, tucking them behind Bernie’s ear as she brings their foreheads together. Slowly, so slowly, she raises her chin, their breaths mingling, lips a hairsbreadth apart.

Before Bernie can bring their mouths together, Serena detours, catches Bernie’s lower lip between her teeth, tugging softly, then laving it gently with her tongue before repeating the action, more intently this time, hard enough that she hears Bernie’s sharp intake of breath. She pulls back just slightly, teasing her tongue across Bernie’s parted lips, memorizing their softness, their taste, before slanting her mouth across Bernie’s, sliding her tongue right past her teeth and ravaging her with lips and tongue. 

She’s faintly aware of Bernie’s hands clutching at her waist, hears soft moans without any idea of who they’re coming from. Her only focus is pouring all of her feelings - love, longing, commitment, desire - into this single point of connection, reminding Bernie of everything they have, everything they are to one another.

When they finally break apart, Bernie looks a little dazed, breathing hard, twin spots of color staining her high cheekbones. Serena can’t help but feel a little smug about it all, the feeling buoying her as Bernie fumbles for her bag, makes her way down the front path. 

Serena lifts her hand to return Bernie’s wave as she climbs into the taxi, watching it disappear down the street, and knows that they’ll be ok.


	22. it feels so good from where I'm standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 6/17/18]_
> 
> Inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/catherinerusse2/status/1008435730417356800) piece of ridiculousness. Can be read as a part of the _*batteries not included_ universe.

The house is quiet as Serena drops her bag in the hall, sheds her coat. Bernie’s car is out front, but there’s no sign of her, so Serena presumes she’s gone for a run, thinks she might have time for a quick shower before tea.

She’s halfway up the stairs before a noise catches her attention, a low, buzzing hum just on the edge of hearing, and her brow furrows as she continues up to the landing, where she can see the bedroom door is slightly ajar. The sound is clearer here - clear and all too familiar - a vibration that makes her stomach clench, her breath come a little faster.

Images fill her mind; visions of Bernie splayed out on their bed, gloriously naked, pale skin glistening with sweat as she presses the wand at just the right angle, writhing and gasping beneath it, delicious noises falling from her lips. 

Her steps quicken unconsciously, heart thudding fast in her chest as she reaches the door.

Serena finds herself holding her breath as she gently pushes it open and…pauses. Blinks a few times. She knows she must be gawping, but she can’t seem to get any words out, stunned into silence by the sight before her, and it takes a few more tries before she manages to produce sound.

“Bernie, what on _earth_ are you doing?”

Bernie’s head jerks up, blonde curls bouncing about her startled face, Serena’s Hitachi Magic Wand humming merrily from where it’s pressed against her knee.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you come home.” She switches the vibrator off and stretches her leg out across the bed, wincing slightly. “I went out for a run and tweaked my knee on that dodgy path in the park.”

Serena raises an eyebrow as she leans against the doorway. “So you thought you’d use my vibrator to work it out?”

“Well, it is labeled as a ‘personal massager.’” Bernie waggles the wand in the air a bit. “Figured it could massage other bits too.”

Crossing the room, Serena can’t hold back a fond chuckle, her smile reflected on Bernie’s face as she swings her legs off the bed, inviting Serena to step between them. Her fingers slide naturally into Bernie’s hair, strong arms settling around her waist as she looks down into dancing brown eyes.

“You are ridiculous, you know that?” Serena murmurs, scratching her fingers lightly against Bernie’s scalp until her eyes flutter closed with a pleased hum.

“Possibly. But you still love me.”

“Yes, I do.” She presses a kiss against Bernie’s hair, another to her forehead, her cheekbone. Tilts her face up to capture her lips in a slow, gentle kiss that quickly turns heated, Bernie’s hands gripping at her back as her tongue slides into Serena’s mouth. By the time they separate they’re both a little breathless, lips swollen and cheeks flushed.

“So how’s your knee now?”

Bernie blinks at the non sequitur. “Um, fine? Much better, actually. That thing worked a treat.”

“Good.” Serena’s smile turns wicked, as she pushes Bernie back against the mattress and retrieves the vibrator. “Why don’t we give its intended use a try?”


	23. where loose ends still have uses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 7/8/18]_
> 
> anonymous asked:  
> Serena is a hair puller? I 100% agree but please could you write about it just to be really sure?

She would never admit it, but the first thing Serena notices that day in the carpark is Bernie’s hair.

“Engine been growling or whining?”

Serena turns her head, instantly focused on the tousled blonde curls, glinting like cornsilk in the sun. She’s not sure why, only that it takes her a moment to tear her gaze away, to respond to this stranger’s unexpected inquiry.

As time goes on, it becomes a bit of a secret obsession, a defining feature that Serena equates so strongly with her new friend that she tells Jason about it one night after a bit too much shiraz, finds herself describing it as “a bit of a mess” instead of saying how soft it looks, how hard it is to stop herself from reaching out to brush the unruly strands out of Bernie’s eyes.

She’s not sure why it fascinates her so. Maybe because it seems so at odds with everything else about Bernie. Her military background, her take charge attitude in theater, her reserved nature all suggest a regimented streak that those untidy golden waves seem to defy. Serena wonders if it’s some sort of rebellion against her former life, tries to imagine Bernie in her dress uniform; hair slicked back, all spit and polish. The image makes her heart race, her throat unaccountably dry, and she forces it away, buries herself in admin before she can examine it too closely.

When Bernie kisses her on the floor of theater one, Serena finally learns that Bernie’s hair is just as soft as she imagined, her hands drawn to the back of Bernie’s neck like a magnet, teasing the hair elastic loose until it spills over her hands like a curtain of silk. The sensation is glorious, taunts her again that night as she lays in bed, replaying the sense memory over and over, a guilty hand working frantically beneath her knickers.

It becomes as inevitable as the tide. Each time Bernie’s soft, warm lips are against her own, Serena’s hands sink into those soft strands, feeling the smooth slip of them against her skin. On a sun-drenched morning in their office before it all falls apart. In the same place when Bernie finally finds her way back. Moments in time marked by the sweet press of lips and the brush of golden curls against Serena’s fingers.

It’s that night, after Kiev, after apologies, heated kisses, and a treacherous stumble upstairs to Serena’s bedroom, that she discovers Bernie’s appreciation for her little obsession.

In her haste to get closer, deeper, _more_ , Serena’s fingers catch in the tangles of Bernie’s hair, tugging unexpectedly at her scalp when she tries to free her hand. Her first impulse is to apologize, but the exquisite moan the action draws from Bernie makes her pause. Makes her gently close her fist and and pull experimentally. The sight of Bernie’s eyes fluttering shut in clear ecstasy, that gorgeous neck arched as she leans into the motion, floods Serena with heat.

From that point forward, her relationship with Bernie’s hair takes on a different flavor. 

There are times where it’s gentle, soothing. Lazy evenings curled up on the sofa with Bernie’s head on her shoulder, practically purring as Serena drags her fingers through the length of her hair again and again, scratches lightly at her scalp. 

But when things turn heated, when Bernie’s determined tongue teases into Serena’s mouth, or she’s perched between Serena’s trembling thighs, the caresses turn pointed; the pressure of her hand fisted in Bernie’s hair guiding her where Serena needs her most, pulling with delicious, inexorable strain until Bernie is whimpering and writhing with need.

And when it’s all over, when their passion is temporarily sated, Serena curls herself around Bernie’s lanky body, falls asleep with those golden curls twined around her fingers.


	24. like snapping out of something I didn't realize I was in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ddagent posted:_  
>  "Congratulations Bernie Wolfe on the opening of the new trauma centre in Nairobi! I hope your loving partner is there beside you to cut the ribbon."

The polite applause from the gathered crowd dies down after a moment, the space filled almost to capacity with people, most of whom Bernie doesn’t think she’s ever met.

“Thank you. Now, this state of the art trauma center would not have been possible without the knowledge and tireless dedication of one woman, Doctor Berenice Wolfe. Bernie, a few words?”

Bernie steps forward at the director’s gesture, greeted by renewed applause. She hears a loud whistle from the back, likely from Feye, her enthusiastic young registrar. Her cheeks flush and she struggles to stop herself from shoving her hands in her pockets. Not for the first time she wishes Serena was here, can picture her stepping forward with a winning smile and a handful of notecards, prepared as always for the parts of administration that Bernie always struggles with.

“Thank you, Director. It’s taken a lot of hard work and long hours to get here, and I certainly haven’t gotten there on my own. There are some people I’d like to thank, without whom this center never would’ve have been completed, much less ahead of schedule.”

It’s important to Bernie to give credit to all of the people who have worked on building this project from the ground up. She knows the director would prefer she take all the credit, be the shining star that he can parade around at fundraising events, but that’s never been Bernie’s style. From the other surgeons down to the porters, these people are her unit, her extended family, and she wants to make sure their contributions are recognized.

A flash of silver at the back of the crowd catches her eye, for just a moment, so similar to Serena’s hair it makes her heart clench, stuttering to a stop in the middle of thanking the nursing staff. Bernie recovers quickly, reminds herself sternly that it’s just wishful thinking on her part.

“In the end, it’s been a team effort and I have the finest team that I could ever hope for. Thank you all for all of your hard work, and thank you for making this state of the art trauma center a reality. Each and every one of you will be responsible for changing lives for the better and I couldn’t be more proud. Thank you.”

Applause bursts forth again, along with hooting and hollering from the group of junior doctors Bernie has taken under her wing in the last month, making her duck her head a little shyly, still not used to being the center of this kind of attention.

By the time the crowd thins, Bernie’s cheeks ache from forcing a smile and she worries her hand may actually be numb from handshakes. She knows why it’s all necessary, that this is an important moment for so many people, but right now all she can think of is her bed, a generous pour of whiskey and Serena’s lovely voice on the phone. Waving off the invitations of the other doctors to toast their success at the local watering hole, Bernie makes her way through the remaining guests in the direction of her office.

“Can anyone join in the celebrations, or is this a private party?”

Bernie freezes, thinks she must be projecting, that this can’t possibly be real. 

It happens more frequently than she’d like. Something reminds her of Serena - a husky voice, a certain laugh, a curvy silhouette - and her heart leaps in her chest, filled with the impossible hope that she’s actually there. And each time her heart drops again at the reminder of reality. Serena is in Holby, not here with her. She understands why, of course she does, and they’ve both been far better about communicating since her return to Nairobi. It doesn’t mean she misses Serena any less, or that she doesn’t wish every day that she was here.

So when Bernie turns around and sees Serena standing there, in the flesh, in the middle of her trauma ward, it takes a moment to register. And then another. She stands there long enough, mouth hanging open, that Serena’s smile fades a bit, replaced by concern.

“I know you have more important things on your mind, but I had rather hoped you’d be happy to see me.” Her words finally knock something loose in Bernie’s mind, returns her to herself even as the air leaves her in a _whoosh_.

“Serena,” she whispers, sees her own growing smile reflected on Serena’s beautiful face. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think I’d miss your big day, did you?” Serena winks, eyes warm and sparkling. “Seriously, Bernie. What you’ve accomplished here, what you’ve built. It’s incredible. _You’re_ incredible.” Her voice is a little choked, tears glistening in her eyes. “I am _so_ proud of you.”

Bernie's heart swells; Serena’s words, the fact that she flew all this way, make her feel ten feet tall. She wants to kiss her, wants more than anything to pull Serena into her arms and show her just how much she misses her, can see the same desire in Serena’s eyes. But Kenya isn’t Holby and she also knows that can’t happen here. She settles instead for squeezing Serena’s hand, feels it returned strongly enough to hurt.

“How long are you here for?” Bernie asks, clearing the husk of restrained tears with a cough.

“Only a few days.” Serena smiles apologetically, gives Bernie’s hand another squeeze. “Long enough for you to show me around the trauma center. Maybe get to know your apartment. I’d like to be able to picture where you live.” 

There’s a hint of suggestion in her words, a quirk of the eyebrow that kindles an answering heat in Bernie. _Later_ , she reminds herself, knows they have time. For now, she has the opportunity to show the woman she loves more than anything the work that has fulfilled her in ways she’d never expected, and she’s going to take advantage of the time she has. Bernie grins wide, tugging on Serena’s hand.

“Come on. I’ll give you the tour…”


	25. cause every color goes where you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 1/24/19]_
> 
> incandescent-justice asked:  
> 15\. “So, I found this waterfall…”

Sweat trickles down the back of Serena’s neck, her hair sticking to her skin as she swats at the insects persistently buzzing around her head. Her eyes remain fixed on the short blonde ponytail bobbing ahead of her on the path, increasingly uncharitable thoughts filling her mind.

When they booked the trip, she’d made it very clear that she had no intention of joining Bernie on the spectacular hiking trails advertised in the brochure, preferring to spend the time blissfully ensconced at the hotel spa, getting pampered within an inch of her life.

She should’ve held her ground when she got back to the room and Bernie casually said “So, I found this waterfall…” But she was fresh from the shower, barely dressed, skin flushed, all limpid brown puppy dog eyes and clever, knowing hands.

And so, instead of the aromatherapy hot stone massage Serena booked for the day, she’s tromping along a barely there path through the foliage, hot and distinctly uncomfortable.

_‘Just a short hike my arse,’_  she grouses, stumbles a bit as her foot catches on a gnarled root poking up from the ground, a branch scraping down her bare arm.

It’s the last straw.

“Bernie, I swear to you, if it’s much further I’m going to… _oh.”_

Water tumbles from the top of a cliff, sparkles like diamonds on the plants and mosses that cling to the rocks, before falling into a churning mass of foam in the clear blue green pool far below. Serena knows she’s gawping, but it’s like nothing she’s ever seen. A slender arm slides around her waist, a soft kiss pressed to the shell of her ear.

“Worth the hike?” 

“Worth the hike,” Serena replies, covering Bernie’s hand with her own and squeezing. “But we’re spending tomorrow at the spa.”

Bernie’s chuckle is low and husky in her ear as she settles her chin against Serena’s shoulder.

“Deal.”


	26. I've got to make room for this feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 1/24/19]_
> 
> incandescent-justice asked:  
> 27\. “I’m pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Bernie blinks. Blinks again. Opens her mouth. Closes it.

She knows she should say something, can feel Serena’s fingers digging into her thigh, but every word she’s ever known seems to have flown from her head. With an exasperated sigh, Serena breaks the heavy, awkward silence.

“Charlotte, darling, that’s wonderful news! How far along are you?”

The two of them chat about due dates and baby showers, Serena occasionally shooting encouraging looks in Bernie’s direction. She tries to participate, to nod and hum approvingly when appropriate. Meanwhile her mind is fuzzy, filled with a low, dull buzz akin to the hum of locusts out the window of their high rise flat in the heart of Nairobi.

“Mum.” The hesitance in Charlotte’s tone finally brings her back, lets her see the worry in her eyes. “You, you are happy for me, aren’t you?”

Tears well in Bernie’s eyes, make her throat thick as she leans in, brushing her fingers against her daughter’s image on the computer screen. “Oh, Lottie.  _Of course_  I am.” It’s taken them so long to come to this point, the thought of doing anything to damage Charlotte’s renewed faith in her is like a knife between the ribs.

She slumps back against the sofa as the screen goes dark, unfocused eyes trained where her hands lie loosely in her lap. Serena scootches a little closer, bumping their shoulders together.

“All right there, Nan?”

“My baby. Is having a baby.” Bernie closes her eyes with a groan, head falling back. “How did this happen?”

“Well you see, when two people love each other very much…” Serena’s breaks off with a snort at Bernie’s baleful glare. “If it helps, I think you’re going to be a wonderful grandmother.”

Bernie  _hmphs._ “I’m not old enough to be someone’s grandmother,” she grouses.

“Well, you know what they say, darling. ‘Age is nothing but a number.’“ Serena shifts on the sofa, slides across until she’s straddling Bernie’s thighs, a warm, welcome weight. “Now, why don’t I remind you that there’s life in the old Wolfe yet…”


	27. oh it's so cold and shivery outside my cocoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 1/24/19]_
> 
> incandescent-justice asked:  
> 35\. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Bernie crosses her arms, implacable at the foot of the bed.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

“But Bernie,” Serena wheedles, only her big brown eyes and pink nose visible between the edge of the duvet and the enormous pile of fur atop her head. “It’s cold!”

“I don’t care if hell has  _literally_  frozen over, you’re not wearing that hat in bed.”

Their eyes lock in a silent contest of wills, each daring the other to stand their ground. Finally Serena relents with a huff, tossing the hat onto the nearby chair, silver hair a mussed halo around her head.

“Fine, but if I freeze to death in the night it’s on your head.”

Bernie slips under the duvet, moulding herself tightly against Serena’s back.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers in Serena’s ear, her hand working it’s way beneath the jumper she insisted on wearing to bed. “I’m sure I can find a way to keep you warm.”


	28. and is it written in liquid red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[originally posted 1/27/19]_
> 
> tswsots asked:  
> 24\. “You’re the only one I trust to do this”
> 
> lesbianishstuff & this-is-krikkit asked:  
> 29\. “I thought you were dead”

Serena’s head jerks up as the doors to the ward slam open, Raf and Fletch pushing through a gurney at a run. They’re shouting something about a stabbing, extensive blood loss, their voices overlapping to make a jumble of the words. She strides forward to assess the situation, is almost to the gurney when she sees a flash of blonde hair, deep blue scrubs soaked in blood.

The world spins crazily beneath her for a moment, bile rising thick in her throat, and she isn’t sure how she keeps on her feet. 

Bernie’s skin is waxy, the usual soft pink flush of color drained away, her lean body so still, almost fragile. And, god, there’s _so much blood_ …

She swallows hard, forcing back the nausea. “What happened?”

“James Fielding,” Fletch snaps, his normally friendly voice tight with anger. “Managed to get his hands on a screwdriver and cornered the Major in the basement.”

She clenches her hands on the rail of the gurney, if only to stop them shaking, snaps "Get Ric Griffin, NOW!" at a wide-eyed Morven before the doors swing shut behind them.

The prep team bustles around them, Raf and Fletch disappearing into the scrub room, and for a moment they’re alone amidst the chaos. She reaches for the edge of Bernie's scrubs, almost black with blood, peeling it back slowly from her pale skin.

"S'rena?" The faint rasp of Bernie's voice makes her jump, heart racing. Bernie's eyes are barely open, glassy with pain, and Serena leans in close, takes her hand without thinking.

"It's all right, Bernie," she says, tries to inject a calm she doesn't feel into her voice. "Ric's on his way. He's going to fix you up, good as new. It'll be just another scar to impress the ladies." 

Bernie's hand spasms briefly in her own, squeezing tight.

"Not Ric," she murmurs, soft enough that Serena has to bend even closer to hear. "Want you..."

Panic wells in Serena at the mere thought, every ounce of hard-earned level-headedness washed away in a flood of pure terror. She almost recoils, only the grip of Bernie's hand keeping her in place.

"Bernie, no. I- I can't."

From one moment to the next her eyes clear, seem to look directly into the core of Serena.

“You’re the only one I trust to do this.” There's no doubt in Bernie's words, just the same unwavering support that she's given from the beginning, that Serena’s come to rely on more than she cares to admit. "Please, Serena."

There's so much she wants to say, to tell Bernie. How important their friendship is to her and how it never feels like enough, that she wants Bernie with her always, whatever that means. Instead, she nods with a tight smile and Bernie relaxes, her hand going limp in Serena's, eyes slipping shut just as the nurses approach.

The routine of surgery prep helps calm Serena’s racing mind, the flow of water over her hands letting her push away the thought that it’s Bernie’s blood she’s washing form her skin, lock it and all of fear behind lock and key. Focus is what matters now. 

It’s more complex than she hoped; a seemingly unending series of traumas that all require immediate attention. Serena staples and stitches like a woman possessed, knitting back together damaged organs, severed veins, sweat shining on her brow and crimson splattered across the front of her gown. Every move, every second is a race against time, one that Serena feels in her gut that she’s losing.

An unbroken strident tone shatters her concentration, heart seizing painfully in her chest.

_Flatline_.

For a moment, just a moment, Serena falters, the weight of it all overwhelming her. Her eyes fall for the first time to Bernie’s face — pale and alien in the harsh light — and all she can think is that this is _Bernie_. Brave, stubborn, brilliant Bernie. Her best friend. The woman she…

_You’re the only one I trust to do this._

Bernie’s words surface in her mind, shore up her resolve. No one has ever had her back like Bernie Wolfe, and Serena will be _damned_ if she lets her down.

A sharp whine fills the air as she takes the paddles from the nearby nurse.

“ _Clear._ ”

\---

Movement flutters against Serena’s hand, so soft she almost misses it. She holds her breath until it repeats — stronger, more intentional. Glancing up at the monitors, she forces a smile through her exhaustion.

“Welcome back.”

“Serena? Wha-” Bernie breaks off, her words thick and slurred, blanketed under the dwindling effects of the anesthesia. She makes to sit up and Serena presses her back down against the bed, meets hardly any resistance.

“It’s all right, Bernie. Just relax.” The beeping of the monitor slows after a moment. Bernie looks so much smaller, delicate compared to her usual vitality, and Serena can’t stop herself from reaching out, brushing the fringe back from her eyes. “You gave us quite the scare.”

Bernie hums a bit, eyes closed. “Like to keep you on your toes.” A wet sort of laugh slips from Serena’s lips, high and a little hysterical, and Bernie’s eyes open, her gaze surprisingly focused. “I knew it. I knew you would save me.”

Her hand finds Bernie’s, tangling their fingers together. Serena knows she’s holding on too tight, but she can’t make her muscles relax, the feel of Bernie’s hand warm and real in her own the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“I thought you were dead.” The gentle concern in Bernie’s eyes is almost her undoing. “We lost you, just for a minute, but I thought-” A sob breaks free, choking off her words and Serena turns her head away, doesn’t want Bernie to see her weakness.

“Serena.” A tug on her hand pulls her back, breaks through the last brittle wall holding her emotions at bay.

“I thought we lost you. I thought _I_ lost you.” She dashes away the tears on her cheeks with her free hand, the other still tangled with Bernie’s slim fingers. “Bernie, I- I don’t know what I would’ve done, what I would do if you…”

“Hey.” Serena goes willingly as Bernie pulls her down, ends up perched on the edge of the hospital bed. Bernie wraps her up in an awkward hug, both of them mindful of the lines and monitors, of fresh stitches. “It’s okay, Serena. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

She buries her face in the crook of Bernie’s neck, breathes deep until she finds the familiar scent of her beneath the tang of antiseptic, the lingering copper of blood, feels the thrum of Bernie’s pulse against her lips, steady and reassuring.

“You’re my best friend,” she whispers against Bernie’s skin, the words coming easier when she can hide from the intensity of Bernie’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that, and I was so scared I’d never get the chance. That you’d never know how much you mean to me.” 

Bernie makes a unintelligible noise and Serena lifts her head, concerned. It’s Bernie’s eyes that freeze in her place; dark and fathomless, burning with emotions that echo in Serena’s chest, stoke a flame behind her sternum that flushes her whole body with heat. There’s a moment of perfect clarity and Serena can do nothing but surrender to the gravity that has always been between them.

Bernie’s lips are warm and soft, chapped from the dry air of theater, impossibly perfect, and Serena can’t imagine why she hadn’t done this sooner.

It only lasts a moment. Serena pulls back scant inches, feels Bernie’s soft breath against her lips.

“Sorry,” she breathes, suddenly concerned that she’s got it all wrong, even as a smile threatens to split her face wide.

“Are you kidding?” Bernie’s eyes sparkle up at her, a flush of pink high on her cheekbones. “I’ve wanted to do that for weeks.”

A giddy laugh bubbles out of Serena, Bernie’s fingers squeezing hers that much tighter. She rests their foreheads together, nudges her nose softly against Bernie’s.

“You know,” she says, pressing another soft peck against Bernie’s lips, “there _are_ easier ways to get my attention.”

Bernie’s laugh is a raspy shadow of her usual honk, trails off into a soft groan of pain. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Serena can see that she’s flagging, tucks a few unruly curls behind her ears. “Sleep now, darling. You need your rest.”

Her eyes are closed before Serena finishes speaking. As she makes to pull away, Bernie’s hand tightens in her own.

“You’ll stay?” Bernie’s voice is faint, already halfway toward sleep. A small furrow creases her brow and Serena smooths it away with her thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
